


Fade Walker

by macabrewriter



Series: The Inquisitor and the Wolf [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:30:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrewriter/pseuds/macabrewriter





	Fade Walker

The walls had crumbled around her, though Gilraena found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the shrill screams that permeated the air. Particles of dust and smoke filled her eyes as she walked through a path littered with burnt stone and glass, making it nearly impossible to survey her surroundings. A burning sensation enveloped her left hand, and she bit back the whimper of agony that threatened to rouse from her lips. Death was not whispering its song in the elf's ear just yet, so she pushed her injuries to the back of her mind. She could worry about them when she reached her destination.

_What destination is that, Gilraena?_

A haze of confusion washed over her as she desperately tried to grasp the remnants of a memory that had seemed long forgotten. Keeper Deshanna's voice rang in her ears as she trudged through the remains of what appeared to have been a magnificent structure, judging by the stained glass that crunched beneath her boots.

_The shemlen in charge of the Chantry is holding a conclave to discuss peace. I think it would be beneficial for you to attend._

Yes, the Conclave. She vaguely remembered being shoved through a crowd of humans as they rushed to enter a pair of ornately decorated doors, murmuring about the potential consequences of the peace talks. And then the entire building shook, knocking over a multitude of statues and paintings. Glass shattered. People screamed as the aroma of burnt flesh wafted through the air.

_Fenedhis!_

A pleaful cry. An outstretched hand.

_This isn't real. This cannot be real. It is all an illusion. A trick of the Beyond._

_Run. I have to run._

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The elven prisoner had shown little sign of regaining consciousness though it became clear to anyone who had attended her in the days after the Conclave that she wasn't entirely incapable of doing so. The mark on her hand was being examined and kept at bay by another elven apostate and it had yet to kill her. A few of the townspeople had thought it wise to take matters into their own hands, though they were thwarted by more rational minds. Besides, it was clear she was a mage. While they weren't sure how well her abilities had developed, it was enough to keep most of the naysayers away. They wanted answers, and they weren't going to receive them by terrifying an elven apostate who possessed a mark that, in their minds, destroyed many lives already.

The prisoner was drenched in a pool of sweat when he arrived. He gently placed a hand on her forehead, which seemed to slow the heavy gasps emanating from her chest to a lingering sigh. The mark on her hand had not worsened since the previous night, which offered a small bit of comfort. He still wasn't quite certain if the prisoner would ever awaken, a thought he did not dare to share with the others for fear of their jumping to the worst conclusion. He had seen how elves and mages were treated since he rose from his slumber. Of the two things that made humans particularly wary, she encompassed both. Hopefully, she would prove him wrong.

The prisoner's forehead burned with the remnants of fever. A simple healing spell would ease her suffering. Curiosity got the better of the guards, and they stared in awe as a ball of emerald light illuminated the apostate's fingertips.  
They did not expect the prisoner's eyes to open, nor did they expect her to clutch the apostate's tunic and frantically cry out, a mixture of Elven and Common dotting her words, "ma...ma...halani...help me. Hahren, _please_."

They reached for their weapons, but the apostate held up his hand and waved them away. "It is quite alright. There is no need to take such drastic measures. I can tend to her myself."

The guards nodded reluctantly, though their eyes did not avert from the prisoner's back until the heavy wooden door blocked their view.

The apostate waited for their retreating steps before turning his attention back to the prisoner. Her amber eyes glistened with tears as a string of pleas fell from her lips. He gently cupped her chin in his hands and offered her a warm smile. "What is your name?"

She quirked an eyebrow in surprise though she hadn't managed to conceal the shakiness in her voice. "Gil...Gilraena. Where am I? Where is the shem in charge of the Chantry? What happened?"

"All those questions will be answered after you awaken."

"I have no time for rest. I have to get back to my clan. You don't..."

The apostate's fingers crackled. Gilraena's eyes widened in recognition before drowsiness hindered her ability to protest.

He caught her as her head lolled forward, and gently placed it on the pillow. Truthfully, he did not want to resort to magic but he could infer from her protesting that she would not heed his advice. The healing spell would not have accomplished its goal if she had been up and about. In fact, he was quite certain she would have collapsed the second her fever had caught up with her. Besides, there were a lot of questions that had to be asked, and it was better for her to be fully prepared to handle the barrage of accusations that would soon surround her like a pack of wolves hunting a lamb. She could not do that with a burning fever and a multitude of injuries he had not yet been able to completely heal.

He was about to take his leave when the door flew open, and a red-faced woman stormed into the room with an entourage of guards at her feet.

"Is the prisoner awake?"

"I am afraid not, Seeker. It was merely a momentary fit caused by fever."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed though she gave no other indication of disbelief. "Very well. If the prisoner is stable, you may take your leave."

The apostate nodded and turned toward the door. He managed to take a few steps before Cassandra called to him once more. "Solas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think she will survive?"

The apostate's lips curved upward as he averted his gaze to the prisoner's slumbering form. "I believe she has more than a few surprises for all of us."


End file.
